Sometimes I miss the holy grace of ignorance, Sometimes I miss the comfort that I felt when I read about David and his caves, About his moody eyes and his harp, About his *** addiction and his jealous, musical heart that only a god could love, About the way he loved with abandon, reckless, selfish, taken aback in naivety, balking at those who dared disagreed with his unwavering need to be as he was
David made me *** David made me feel closer to God and my mother David told me a story of lust and ****** and protection and angst and a sweet tortured easily patronized self
Maybe in all of this, one day this flawed, beautiful man who murdered a giant and sang to lambs
Would be me
A woman, self possessed, soothing sheep and culling sleep in her victims. Passion dripping from her honey harp.
David, thank you for the awakening and for the saturated hedonism that you spoke to in me.